Does this Make me Crazy?
by MercureAuChrome
Summary: the story of the 74th Hunger Games told from CLove's point of view.  CLATO
1. Chapter 1: Pick me! Pick me!

Everyone dreams of paradise. I did too, once. Long ago in a place far away. I was sane once, my thoughts travelled along the path of my mind in the same fashion that everyone else's did. But the time for sanity has long passed. I am ruthless. I am a killer. My joy comes from the blood of the innocent, my life from the death of others. My name is Clove.

Born and raised in District 2, participating in the Hunger Games every year is considered an honour. It's a way to show our superiority to the other districts, and that we have favoured with the Capitol. The morning of the reaping is ringing with excitement, the district is buzzing as children prepare for a moment that could change their lives. I am the same. I pull on my lavender dress and put my shoulder length black hair back with a headband. I suppose I am considered pretty within my district, but the thought is rarely heeded. It won't matter today. My grey eyes burn. Today I volunteer for the Hunger Games.

Do not misunderstand, I am no fool. I know the odds. I think of them constantly. I knew them two years ago as well, when my twelve year old brother was selected for the games. Layden was selected, and of course, like every other stupid child in or district, he thought his skills where superior. He declined any offer of volunteering. I knew he was dead. He was put into an arctic arena, where the Capitol drained the will to fight from him right in front of our eyes. I watched, as day after day the cold ate away at him. Finally, on the tenth day, a little girl from district 12 slit his throat as he slept. The blood, his blood, stained the snow red. My decision was made that moment. I will become a tribute. I will avenge him. And I will kill every God damned son of a bitch they throw at me.

Mallory Verdwig, our district escort, stands on a stage in front of our justice building. I recall last year, I volunteered as tribute taking the place of a 15 year old girl who was reaped, but she declined. She died at the hands of the male district 4 tribute, who had turned on the other career tributes early on. He ended up winning the games. I was seventeen then. I am eighteen now and this is my last chance. If I am not reaped, then all I have to hope for is that whoever is will chose me as their replacement. Not likely here.

Mallory, a stout woman, places her hand over the bowl, smiling like a toad she drones the same phrase they quote every reaping, "May the odds be ever in your favour." I wince. I desperately hope that the odds will be in my favour, and allow me the chance to enter that arena. Since my brother's death, I have been obsessed with it. I suppose this is where I lost my mind. Death to me has become an art. Something to be experimented with, to flirt with. I find the most effective way to draw out death is knives. The blades fascinate me. How can one prolong the dying, and draw out the suffering? I have it down to a science, and knives are my tool.

Mallory finally draws a slip of paper out of the giant glass bowl, and I hold my breath. She pauses and reads out,

"Laria Dawnbrig."

I want to curse and lose my temper. Not Laria. She will never pick me. She was my brother's friend. She won't understand why I have to do this. I push my way to the front and stare her dead in the face. She looks afraid. Like by some chance, this year there will be no volunteers. Laria was always kind and gentle, keeping my brother in line. She wouldn't last one minute in the arena. I wait in silence, anticipating the moment where Mallory will call for volunteers. She waves her hand over the glass ball once more, and darts in like a bird seizing a fish. In a high clear voice, she reads out,

"Cato Pollreis."

I raise my eyebrow, and my face frowns impulsively. Cato. Massive. I don't know him well, but I know him well enough that he will be a formidable opponent in the arena. He has a handsome face and is brave to no end, I'm sure this will win him sponsors. And I know for a fact that he will decline any offer of replacement.

With the initial reaping done, Mallory calls out finally for female volunteers. I immediately thrust my arm out to Laria, begging, pleading for her place. Her eyes, full of fear, are locked on me. I know there is an inner battle going on in her mind, and in the rucus of females crowding around to volunteer, she is becoming unfocused. I feel my chance slipping away and I call out without thinking,

"Layden! Please for Layden!"

Sudden silence. I have Laria's full attention, and apparently now that of the whole district. In a sudden whoosh, she has grasped my forearm, fire burning in her eyes now. It is customary that when a replacement is chosen that the initially reaped pull the chosen up onto the stage by the forearm, and all of a sudden I'm there. Her expression says it all as she descends from the stage. _Make it count._

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you District 2's tributes for the 74th annual hunger games, Clove Shutter and Cato Pollreis!"

I sit in my holding room, awaiting the few people I know to come wish me luck before my departure. My parents won't be dropping in. I know this, and yet it still slightly pains me. I swallow the pain and replace it with anger. Those idiots. The worst thing they ever did was get together. My father is a peacekeeper for district eight; he has been since I was a little girl. After my brother's death, my mother also went off to become a peacekeeper. I haven't seen her since. Nor do I care if I ever see her again. This isn't about them. Maybe if I'm lucky they'll get to watch me slaughter the children that live in the districts that they've grown to love. If the odds are in my favour.

The door creaks open and in walks Laria. I raise my eyebrow, not really surprised. She stares silently at me for a whole minute, statuesque at the door. Finally she pads over to me and grasps my hand. My initial instinct is to snarl and pull away, but I don't. She opens my hand a drops a small braided piece of string, barely enough for a necklace. On it is attached a wooden charm, with the name _Layden _carved on the back. I now have my district token. She whispers a small "Thank you," before shuffling out the door and leaving me in silence. I tie the string around my ankle and finger the wood. I am visited by no one else.


	2. Chapter 2: You Disgust Me

The sound of cheers follows me as I board the train to the Capitol. Fake. They cheer because they think they will come out with victor this year, like they almost always do. They won't be cheering when Cato dies. And I figure this because there is no way I am losing. I will return to my district cold, resigned, and ignorant of their praise. They will receive no love from me. I hate Panem. Secretly, I dream of a place far away where the Capitol did not reign, where one could live without fear. But that would be boring.

I enter my room and immediately trot to the shower. I turn it on as cold as it will go and stand there for what feels like hours. _Calm, calm_, I repeat the feeling to myself. _You are on your way; this is where you want to be. _I step out of the shower lightly and look at myself in the mirror. I am not small. No thin sugarcane blowing in the wind. Years of training have showcased everything in the right spot, and everything is muscle. I pull on a scarlet blouse and black slacks. Time to meet my mentor.

Meeting my mentor is not actually as exciting as it sounds, for I already know who I will get. Enobaria. She was a ruthless victor, and I'm sure she will pass on all her tactics skilfully to me. One day, after I've won, perhaps I will be able to pull off the "hatred for everyone" personality as well as she does. Minus the pointed teeth. I catch a glimpse of Cato only once, as he is leaving with Lushiat. Old as the man is, Lushiat won the 60th hunger games exceptionally well with his brute strength and barbarism. I flicker of doubt crosses my mind. Cato may prove to be a great opponent, especially with Lushiat's help. I may need to cut him down first.

Within the hour I have discussed minor things with Enobaria and met my prep team. It consists of three women, (can I call them that?) who, like all the Capitol drones, think they're being "eccentric". They drag me along a long train corridor and usher me into a small secluded dark maroon room. With a _BANG _the door closes behind me and I am alone.

My breath quickens and I swivel around, desperately searching for the way out. Claustrophobia is sinking in and for the first time since the reaping I feel sweat drip down my forehead. Before I can really panic however, I hear a door open behind me and smell fresh air. Standing in the doorway opposite the way I came in is a man in black, the only notable thing about him is that his eyes shine violet.

"Alright love?" he grins, raising an eyebrow and giving me a once over. I already do not like this man.

"I'm fine." I say haughtily, standing up and lifting my nose in the air. He can think what he wants. What do I care anyway? I breeze by him and encounter the strangest room I have seen to date. It is completely white, with a wall completely made of mirror. Warm breath on my neck reminds me that the man is still here with me and goose bumps run up and down my arms. I want this over with soon.

"When we reach the Capitol," he slowly walks around till he's in front of me. "I will prepare you for the opening ceremonies. I'm your stylist if you haven't guessed." He pauses, piercing me with violet eyes that look like they could shoot lasers if need be. "I need to know that you will do anything, and I mean _anything_, I ask you to do for your district costume."

This doesn't take me by surprise at all. The opening ceremonies are well known for shock value, as all the tributes try and make an impression, to be remembered. I eye this strange man, calculating.

"You got a name?" I demand. He crosses his arms.

"Answer my question, and you'll get my name."

I shrug nonchalantly and raise my eyebrow. "I can take any freak show costume you can dream up." The man smiles in a way that makes me very uncomfortable and chimes,

"Lund, my name is Lund."

The rest of the train ride goes relatively fast and before I know it the shinning lights of the Capitol are all around me. Cato and I are separately ushered into the "hotel" so to speak, and brought up to the second floor where we will reside for the next few days until the games begin. Admittedly, I am impressed by all the technology, and how one can receive anything with the snap of their fingers. In reality though, I'm anxiously awaiting the moment where I will be able to size up my competitors, figure out the best way to cut them up and make them scream. This is my goal. And I will let nothing stand between me and the blood of all my opponents.

Evening comes faster than expected and the prep team have already spent two hours removing every hair from my body, waxing me and doing my hair into loose curls that fall about my shoulders and pinning some back with a somehow reflective granite pin. The time comes for Lund to see me and dress me for the ceremonies, and I wait in disgusted anticipation of him seeing my completely naked. He already makes me uncomfortable as it is.

Finally he summons me, and I saunter into a room that looks identical to the one on the train, dark maroon and equally as small. This time however, as the door slams behind me, I keep my cool until the next door opens and Lund pulls me in. I shake my arm from his grasp and challenge him, "Why do you even have that little capsule of a room?"

He grins slyly and shrugs, "I simply enjoy the seeing pupils grow smaller as they enter a brighter room. It's lovely to see." And I thought was insane. This man has problems. He asks me to drop my housecoat and I do so with an expressionless face. I see myself in the wall sized mirror he has for a wall. He sizes me up once more, and the expression on his face makes me want to vomit. No wonder this guy is a stylist, he gets to see all his clients naked.

With a wicked grin he pulls out from behind his back a tub of sparkling grey powder, and a small length of completely-through silver fabric.

My face turns from an expressionless void to shock and confusion. How does that equate to an outf-... It dawns on me. He is behind me now, gently touching my shoulder, his violet eyes burn into mine through the mirrors reflection.

"Alright love?"


	3. Chapter 3: On Chariots We Ride

By the time Lund is finished with me, I am unrecognisable. I am unearthly. He has covered my body completely in shimmering grey powder, and draped the thin silver see through fabric in such a way that it covers my intimate areas, but only barely. He has left hardly anything up to the imagination. I can give him credit for this though, because people will notice me. My makeup is dark, contouring my eyes and making my lids look heavy and pensive. He finally stands in front of me, giving me a final once-over. With a smile, somehow not as strange as the ones he had flashed me before; he takes my hand, leading me out the door.

"You're ready."

Within minutes I am on a carriage, waiting for Cato to arrive. Enobaria is giving me directions on what to do when we're led out of the darkness into the hands of the Capitol audience.

"Keep your chin high," she barks. "You are a tribute to be feared! And when Cato gets here..." She cuts her sentence short, swivelling about, angrily scanning the crowd of tributes getting ready. "Where is he anyway?" As if on cue, out of a doorway walks Cato, Luishat in tow, grinning devilishly. It takes me a moment to register what Cato is wearing, for at first it seems as if he's wearing nothing at all. He also is covered in shimmering powder, making him look statuesque, and like me; silver fabric has been draped across his lower section just correctly to keep certain things hidden. He raises his eyebrow in my direction and I realize I've been staring. I quickly turn my head away, nose in the air. _Think what you want Cato, you'll be dead soon enough._

Enobaria promptly hisses at Luishat for being late and his excuse is "fashionably my dear Enobaria, fashionably." Before I can hear the end of their argument, our chariots are moving and we are being thrown into the shrieks and camera flashes of the Capitol.

I can hear the _oohs_ and_ aahs _as the audience take in the glittering costumes of the district one tributes. And suddenly we are there, and I hear a mix of noises. I cannot pinpoint the exact reaction of the crowd, so I simply stare ahead in silence, chin up, cold and distant. I glance behind me only once when I hear the crowd erupt, apparently crazy for the tributes of district 12. They're... They're on _fire_! Color rises to my cheeks. We should have had an outfit like that... or I should have._ This is not me and Cato_, I remind myself.

We circle around the stadium and I cannot wait for this evening to end and for training to begin. Pretty costumes and blown kisses will not help anyone there. All of the judging will be based on skills. I almost want to audibly sneer at how close the district 12's are portraying themselves. They're competitors, _aren't they? _I steel a glance over at Cato. He looks stone faced. I imagine he's a ticked off as I am over our generally un-noticeable outfits. His eyes flit to mine and for a moment I see uncertainty, but it is replaced fast as lightning with determination. He is not fazed. And I won't be either, I decide. _Just wait district 12s,_ i think, _blowing kisses won't help you in the arena._

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><p><strong><em>Hey guys sorry its been so long since I Updated, and that this is so short and so lacking content:P Im in school you see, i dont have much time:P Still here though!<em>**


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